


At Last

by atari_writes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, beardy kisses, fluffy fluff, it's just fluff, neck kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 16:23:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15147068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atari_writes/pseuds/atari_writes
Summary: Steve makes you dinner after a long day.





	At Last

You sigh and roll your neck as you walk through the door of the apartment you share with Steve, eager to finally be done with this day. Literally everyone you had encountered today had been awful and mean to you, and even your friendly coworkers had been having crappy days and gave you crappy attitude. You just wanted to microwave one of the frozen dinners you had for when Steve was away on his missions and watch some mindless TV for a few hours.  
The door slams shut behind you and you kick off your shoes and drop your purse on the floor next to them. You stand in the entryway for a minute, trying to put your finger on what was wrong with the picture inside your apartment. It takes you far longer than it should to realize that there’s music playing--something soft and slow and definitely Steve--and a delicious smell is drifting in from the kitchen. Your stomach rumbles at the smell and you groan.   
Then you see Steve’s vibranium shields discarded almost carelessly by the TV, and his worn-out suit is laying in the hallway leading to your bedroom. You softly smile as a warm, comfortable feeling fills your chest--something you’ve come to associate with Steve, with his presence. His soft singing reaches your ears next, and your smile grows as you take the few steps to the kitchen, rounding the small dividing wall to see Steve standing at the stove with his back to you.  
He’s wearing a pair of old sweatpants and a t-shirt that’s two and a half sizes too small for him, but you’d never tell him; the sight of the straining material on his biceps and across his back is something you’d never willingly give up.   
You can’t tell what he’s cooking, but it smells absolutely heavenly. The fact that he only just got back from a mission and the first thing he did was make you dinner…the thought has you overwhelmed with affection. That, and his soft voice as he sings along to Etta James. Even though she was after his time, her music was his new favorite; old enough to be familiar but with a newer twist.  
You close the distance between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your forehead between his shoulder blades. “I love you,” is the first thing you say to him.  
He makes a small, soft sound, and reaches a hand up to cover your arms where they cross over his stomach, giving you a squeeze. He stops singing, and you almost regret interrupting him. But when he slides the pot off of the heat and turns in your arms, your regret turns to adoration.   
He smiles softly down at you, and lifts his hands to cup our face, his thumbs on your cheeks and his fingers spreading down to touch your neck. His eyes are full of love, and some pain, a little bit of exhaustion, and all you want to do is take him to bed and lay in his arms all night.  
“I love you more,” he says softly. He dips his head, playfully nudging your nose aside with his, then lightly touches his lips to yours. He pulls away slightly, a tinge of pink on his cheeks. He gets like this, sometimes. Especially after grueling missions. He feels like you’re too good for him; he feels embarrassed that he can just lean in and kiss you like this.   
You slide your hands from around him up to his shoulders, holding him still as you push up onto your toes to bring his mouth back to yours. It’s all the reassurance he needs. He lets out a soft grunt, his fingers sliding back into your hair to tilt your head up. He opens his mouth, deepening the kiss. A small whimper escapes your throat at the feeling of his tongue dipping into your mouth, tracing your lips.   
You tilt your face to the side to pull in a gasp of air, but he keeps going. His right hand drops from your neck, skirting your breast, then your waist on its way down to your ass. His fingers spread and grab at you while his mouth trails hungry kisses down your jaw and onto your neck.   
His beard scratches and bites at your skin, but the feeling is so solid, so real that you don’t mind. His hand on your ass pulls you forward, your hips sliding against his hardness, barely contained by his sweatpants.  
“Steve—“ you gasp, a little overwhelmed by how fast he’s escalating. You slide a hand into his long hair and tug, not sure if you want to pull him closer or hold him back.  
“Missed you,” he mutters. “Missed you so much, sweetheart.”  
Your eyes squeeze shut and you bite your lip to keep the sinful sounds in as his beard and lips and teeth and tongue continue their onslaught down the side of your neck and down to your collarbone.  
“Steve—“  
Your grumbling stomach interrupts the two of you, making heat rush to your cheeks. You wince as he pauses. He exhales a small laugh and briefly rests his forehead on your shoulder before placing a soft kiss on the side of your neck.   
“Sorry,” you mumble, embarrassed.  
He laughs again and lifts his head, kissing your cheek. “Don’t worry about it, baby. Dinner’s almost ready.” He smiles and wraps his left arm around your waist, pulling you into his side as he turns back to the stove.  
“You’re making dinner? You sure you don’t wanna go out?” you tease, a small smirk on your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck.  
He laughs, his cheeks turning pink again. “I think I can manage this.” He turns and kisses your forehead. His other hand grabs a spoon and starts stirring whatever’s in the pot on the stove. You rest your cheek on his shoulder as he starts to gently sway the two of you to the music.   
“What is this?”  
“Um—“he clears his throat. “I don’t really know how to make much, but I used to make this when my mom was working late.” He gets a kind of distant smile on his face. “It’s just a stew, nothing fancy.”   
You smile and tilt your face to kiss his shoulder. “I think it smells wonderful, baby.” You turn back towards the stove, listening to Etta’s soothing voice, watching Steve’s strong forearm as he stirred the soup.   
The song changes and Steve makes a soft noise. “I love this song,” he says softly, turning the heat off on the stove. “Have you heard it?”  
You smile at his question as “At Last” starts playing on his phone. “Yeah, baby. I’ve heard it.” You laugh a little as he turns to wrap both arms around your waist.   
He leans in to kiss your forehead, “I love it. It makes me think of you,” he murmurs against your skin, swaying you a bit more to the soft music. You pull back just enough so you can see his face; his soft blue eyes and his rough beard, his soft, chapped lips, the tired lines around his eyes and mouth.   
“You’re staring,” he whispers, a small smile on his face.   
Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you focus on his chest. “Sorry. I can’t help but stare sometimes.” Your hands drop down to trace small circles on his chest.   
Steve ducks his head to meet your eyes. “It’s sweet.”  
You hum. “You’re sweet.”   
He shakes his head and kisses the tip of your nose. “You’re sweeter.”  
You give him a deadpan look. “Steve. You just got back from a two week mission and the first thing you do is cook dinner for me? You’re the sweetest.”   
He shakes his head again, tightening his grip around your waist. “I love you. I’m glad I’m home,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the side of your neck.   
“I’m glad you’re home, too,” you say, sighing at the feeling of his beard on your neck and his lips on your skin.


End file.
